Chapter 8 Isabella
ISABELLA
Raiden leads me out of the meeting room and up the stairs of his clubhouse. The low rumble of men’s voices carries in from outside. Delicious smells waft down the corridor, and the sound of women’s laughter comes from the kitchen.
“It’s a club dinner tonight,” he explains.
It’s relaxed here, like a casual family gathering and nothing like the quiet tense halls of my father’s estate.
Upstairs is a corridor with several doors leading off it, and he takes me to the one at the end of the hall. It’s furnished plainly but comfortably with a large double bed and a bathroom adjoining it.
“This is my room when I need to crash. You can stay here.”
The furnishings are navy blue and masculine. It needs a woman’s touch, but I’m grateful to have a place to stay.
Raiden strides to the bathroom and opens cabinets before returning with a bowl of hot water.
“Sit.” He indicates an armchair near the bed.
I’m used to my father barking orders at me, and the defiance in me bubbles to the surface. I hate being told what to do, but Raiden holds up a medical kit and fixes me with a look that brooks no argument.
“I’m going to patch up your leg.”
I’d forgotten about the scratch on my leg, and when I look down there’s a trickle of blood on my shin. I sit in the chair, and he kneels before me with the bowl of hot water.
“Does the President of the club play doctor to all his guests?”
My father would never do this, get down on his knees before anyone. But Raiden wears his power with casual confidence. He doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone.
“Only the pretty ones.”
I roll my eyes at the easy compliment, because I don’t want him to see how much it pleases me.
I’ve been thinking about this man for the last two years.
And even though I’m a mafia princess and used to compliments, the fact that he thinks I’m pretty has my tummy doing double flips like a schoolgirl.
Get a grip, Isabella.
“May I?”
Raiden indicates my leg with the scrape on it. He’s polite, or maybe he knows no one touches a mafia princess without permission.
I nod, and his hand gently grips my shin as he lifts my leg to rest upon his knee. He studies the cut and I hold my breath, hoping he doesn’t see the goosebumps that prick my skin at his touch.
“It’s not deep,” he says. “I’ll clean it up and put a bandage on it.”
His hands are rough, callused, and dirty with bike grease. I’m used to the carefully manicured hands of my father’s associates. I can’t pull my gaze away from his rough knuckles as he dips a towel in the bowl of water and brings it to my leg.
“This may sting.”
He presses the towel to the cut, and the water going into the open wound stings like hell. I bite my teeth together to keep from flinching. My father brought me up to be strong, and I’m not about to cry over a tiny wound.
Raiden must notice my body tense, because he looks up at me and smirks.
“It’s okay to feel pain, Isabella.”
I keep my expression neutral. “I’m a Berone. I don’t feel pain.”
It’s what my father would have the world think, but I’m teasing Raiden. He chuckles, and I can’t keep my face straight.
It’s nice to hear him laugh. Most people are scared of me and they don’t get my deadpan humor, but this man sees into my very soul.
He’s leaning so close to my leg that my skin prickles from the heat of his breath. I grip the sides of the armchair as the butterflies in my belly turn to something deeper. A tug in my core and a rising heat that makes me want to take his callused hand and slide it up my thigh.
He finishes cleaning the wound and reaches for a bandage. His breathing is ragged and he doesn’t speak, and I wonder if he’s feeling the same intensity of emotions that I am.
I’ve never been with a man before. I’m Catholic like my mother, and I’ll not bed a man until I’m married to him.
But so help me God, there are things I’d like this man to do to me that I can’t explain.
I’m not a sinner, but the way his fingers gently stroke my leg as he puts the bandage on and the heat in his eyes has me ready to go to the devil for what I need from him.
I drop my leg as soon as he puts the bandage on. These feelings are too intense, too confusing. I’m a woman who likes to be in control, and what Raiden’s making me feel has my mind and body in a whirl.
He stands up and reaches out a hand to me.
“Let’s get that makeup off. I want to see your face.”
I follow him to the bathroom. There’s none of the expensive makeup remover that I’m used to. But when Raiden puts soap on a flannel, I don’t care.
I sit on a stool as he instructs, enjoying being fussed over.
“Close your eyes.”
I do as he says, and with a surprisingly gentle touch, he wipes across my eyes several times. It will be streaky and it’ll probably cause a breakout, but I don’t care. I’ve never been looked after in this way before. It reminds me of my mother wiping the mud off my face when I was a child.
“You still going by Trina?”
I open my eyes to find Raiden so close that I can see flecks of amber among the chocolate of his eyes. “Your fake name.”
I laugh, remembering the fake ID I had made up to get into White Out. “No, Carmenta was what I used today.”
“The Italian goddess.”
I arch my eyebrow, impressed. “You know Roman mythology?”
“It would have been lost on those men.”
There’s a tightness in his voice, and a flash of anger crosses his features.
He’s jealous.
The realization makes me smile. I thought he was treating me like a naughty child, but if he’s jealous, then it means he does feel something for me.
I should tell him about my real reasons for running. Maybe he can help. But what could Raiden do against my father’s wishes? It would bring a world of pain to his club. This is my own battle to fight.
“You can stay here for as long as you need.”
Raiden runs the flannel under the tap, and a mix of colors wash into the sink. It’s not a casual offer. He’s putting himself at risk.
“My father might kill you.”
It’s not an idle threat but a fact. My father has a reputation for heavy handed justice.
“Nah.” Raiden shakes his head casually. “I don’t think so. Not if you’re safe and happy, and it’s your choice.”
His gaze meets mine, and there’s a flicker of hope.
He wants me to stay.
This powerful gruff biker who’s more than twice my age wants me to stay here. My stomach flips, and even though I should be mad at this man for pulling me out of the strip club and ruining my plans, I find myself smiling like a dizzy schoolgirl.
I’ve blown my chance to foil my father’s plans for me, but at least I can have a few days of freedom. To get to know the man who has haunted my dreams for the last two years.
Raiden bends down and wipes the flannel across my cheek, wiping away thick layers of foundation.
With him this close, I can smell his aftershave and bike oil. The scent makes my head feel light. My heart flutters with his closeness, and there’s an ache between my legs that I long for him to ease.
I long to stay here with him, but I don’t want to put anyone in danger.
“How about your club? My father might be…” Murderous? Vengeful? “…a little cross. I don’t want to bring trouble to your club.”
Raiden arches his eyebrow. “No doubt, Princess. I’ll speak to the club because you’re right. It’s not just my ass I’m putting on the line. But I want you here, and no threat from your father will change that.”
He looks so certain, the only man I’ve ever met not quaking at the threat of my father’s anger.
His gaze darts to my lips and I part them, ready for the kiss that his look promises. He leans forward and our eyes meet, my desire reflected in his.
I close my eyes, ready to feel his firm lips on mine. His breath tickles my lips.
There’s a knock at the door, and my eyes fly open as Raiden pulls away.
“Fuck.”
Raiden straightens up and runs a hand through his hair.
He looks torn, and I hate that wanting to kiss me isn’t enough.
Is he scared of my father, or does he think I’m a little girl who can’t handle him?
Is he letting me stay because he wants me here or because his fatherly instinct is kicking in and he knows I’ll be safe here?
I’ll have to find a way to show him that I’m not a girl, that I’m all woman.
He strides to the door, and there’s a woman on the other side. I haven’t seen her before, but her smile is bright and her hair is pulled back in a cute 1950s do that matches her dress.
“I’ve brought some clothes and a plate of food.”
“Thanks Danni.”
Raiden takes the plate of food, and the woman drops the bag inside the door.
Her gaze finds mine, and she smiles sweetly, “I guessed you’d be about the same size as April.”
Jealousy flares in me at the mention of another woman.
“You need anything else, just holler.” Danni closes the door behind her, and I turn to Raiden.
“Who’s April?” It comes out harsher than I intended, and Raiden chuckles.
“She’s Snips’s wife.”
I turn away so he doesn’t see my relief and confusion.
What is happening to me that this man makes me feel so much?
“I’ll leave you to eat. There’re fresh towels if you want a shower. Get some rest. I’ll be right outside the door if you need me.”
He shuts the door behind him, and I stare at it for a long time. We were so close to kissing a moment ago, and then he leaves abruptly.
Something’s holding him back, and I intend to break down every one of his barriers.